Daffodils

The daffodils are here again, dearest. 

Aren't daffodils supposed to be

the ushers of hope

springing full grown 

from the mind of God?

But do you know what I did 

when you told me what I already knew? 

I ran outside.

I fled your tidings into a field 

filled with daffodils,

those bright blooms now

the Flower of the Knowlege of Good and Evil

that brought death into my garden.

bitter synesthesia

have you seen those videos:

someone; maybe

        a teenage boy, an elderly man

                a seeming hard creature of hidden emotions

is given a pair of glasses with dark lenses

he weeps. he weeps

suddenly seeing color

for the first time ever. 

his tears never fail

to move my tears.

i never knew words had color

until cruel dis

         ease stole yours away

and gave me this 

    bitter

        synesthesia.

out of the world

        slowly bled your words

                into black silence.

                        what will ever

                                show me colors again?

it turns out that we always die alone

it turns out that

we always die alone

and those whose hearts

are with ours

die alone

beside us

all of us together

in isolated

anguish

holding

our breaths as

you breath out 

your last